


If We Sin Tonight

by SpiderKatana



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Team Gay Strip Club, Beware of Religious Innuendo, Ex-Drug-Addict Wade, Hopefully 30k, M/M, Oral Sex, Peter Goes To Church In Fishnet Stockings, Peter Wants To Fuck A Priest Okay, Peter Wants Wade To Fuck Him, Peter is a Little Shit, Priest!Wade, Protective Wade Wilson, Reformed Wade Wilson, Religious Guilt, Repressed gay/bi/pan men, Sacrilege, Slow Burn, Stripper!Peter, THOT!PETER, The Deadpool Costume Cameo, The Thot Chronicles, This is very very gay, Wade Is Doing His Best, lap dance, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21952453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderKatana/pseuds/SpiderKatana
Summary: Peter Parker just needed enough loyal customers at the The Tower to make sure the rest of the team remained employed. What's a gay stripper in need to do? Pass out flyers to all the repressed men in church.He didn't exactly count on taking one look at the infamous Father Wilson and thinking, "I want to ruin him on that altar."Wade, on the other hand, just wanted a place where he could feel safe and loved. He gave up on relationships long ago because they never mixed well with his vices, and finally he's managed to make a comfortable life for himself and build a warm atmosphere among his parish. One male stripper- no matter how attractive that stripper may be- will not be his downfall.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 36
Kudos: 113
Collections: Spideypool Priest Fest 2019





	1. Peter The New Jezebel

Even beyond the large wooden door, Wade could hear the parish pouring into the church. The six p.m. service was always interesting, mostly because in spite of the fact that the majority of them came after their work hours or school hours, they seemed to be the most energetic group he had. 

He tapped his fingers lightly on the desk and waited. 

Truthfully, most priests would just wait at the altar for everyone to be seated, but Wade didn’t like the awkwardness. There was just something infinitely painful about standing up there in the shuffling moments while people looked up at him and he couldn’t fill the space with words yet. When he’d started, he would feel defeated by the quiet murmurs- suspicious and self-conscious that they centered around him and his face and his scars and all the little things he’d grown to hate about himself-  _ God doesn’t cast anything upon you that you can’t handle- _ but they were a caring community. Rowdy, but kind. 

The murmurs weren’t  _ negative, _ just curious. They wanted to know about him, his past, his motivations, his style and eventually Wade grew past the over-the-top jokes to fill the void and opened up a bit. His preaching wasn’t exactly  _ traditional, _ no matter how much he and Logan butted heads over the subject. Wade preferred to read passages and interject stories from his life. He did it often enough that they knew of his mistakes, knew why he made the choices he did, how he overcame his struggles and became a man of faith. 

Their support and welcome made Wade confident that the less-than-quiet murmurs of today weren’t negative either. After all, if they didn’t seem to be outraged by  _ him, _ then what could possibly set them off. 

Eventually, they settled enough for Wade to assume that everyone was seated. They were still  _ loud, _ however, and an uneasy sensation settled in the pit of Wade’s stomach. 

Surely they had just had an exciting day. They were an energetic bunch, it was only natural that they were excited by things. Perhaps they’d noticed the new taco truck a couple blocks away? Wade himself had been quite taken with the food so it was understandable. Or maybe it was politics or someone being promoted. The last time they’d made so much noise even seated had been when Mary Jane announced her pregnancy with that Harry fellow-- Wade scratched nervously at the back of his neck. He hadn’t seen them in a couple years and he worried about them from time to time. 

_ Focus! Sermon time! _

He was being ridiculous. If it was a pregnancy, he’d welcome a baby member of the church whenever and hope that they could find beauty and salvation in the same faith he did and if they couldn’t- he’d encourage them to find their solace from whatever source worked best for them. 

He reached his hand out to the dark metal handle and put on a bright smile as he turned it, ready to greet his pseudo-family. 

He took all of one step before dread beat out of his heart and clawed through his veins like poison. 

The people in the crowd looked like Wade was going to stop the apocalypse and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what caused it. There was a mix of horror, fury, relief, and… interest on their features. Wade, more than any other priest, knew exactly what ill intentions and planned lies looked like and he could see several men and women with guilty looks. He wasn’t expecting to see hatred and outright disgust in the cocktail of emotions on display and for a moment he had to stop and remind himself that they’d been like this  _ before _ he entered the room and he was definitely not the cause. 

And then the cause stood up from a back seat in six inch back heels, ripped skin tight fishnets, shorts that Wade was absolutely sure would not cover all of this stranger’s backside and…. Wade could not call that a shirt. It was not a shirt. It was more like a strip of fabric that covered only nipples and shoulders and did so poorly given that it was so thin and obviously made for a  _ female _ who would have worn a bra. Everything was on display, skin as smooth as marble under the reflections of light from stained glass windows, and a bright, flirty smile framed by full blood red lips as this man- this  _ indecently dressed man  _ leaned in close and whispered into the ears of men nearby and tucked folded sheets of paper into their pockets. 

The murmurs grew as Wade stared, dumbfounded at the presence of this person, this walking  _ sin _ in his church. He was… devastating. Already, women were angrily hissing at their husbands about their wandering eyes, children’s faces were being turned away by their parents as they tried to fight the holds: curiosity sparking their parents’ judgement, the choir girls were blushing- some in embarrassment and some in anger, and the men… they were hardly a step above drooling. 

Wade was frozen in place. They expected him to say something, to do  _ something, _ but he didn’t know what that something was. He couldn’t kick someone out of church just because they were openly disliked. How many times had he been forced to leave a service before his preaching days because people wouldn’t stop  _ staring? _ How many times had he crept into the house of God after mass hours just to sit in the confessional and talk to a priest that wouldn’t judge him if they couldn’t see him? If Logan hadn’t told the morning mass to shove it and reminded them that God loved  _ all _ his children, Wade never would have found a place where he belonged. He’d found happiness, security, a  _ home _ and… he couldn’t deny that he’d dressed similarly at certain points in his life. What people wore was not a reflection of the person they were and Wade would not cave to the pressure of those around him. 

He smiled at the stranger, an admittedly nervous smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes but he was  _ trying here. _ The church went silent. Terrifyingly silent. 

The stranger glanced up from where he was-- bent over slightly and stretching to reach the open hand of a married man three people away from the church aisle-- and when he noticed Wade’s polite and sort of friendly smile, he straightened up. 

He stood in place for a second, just staring Wade down, eyes roaming over his shoulders, his chest, everything as Wade stood very still under the scrutiny and tried not to let on how absolutely  _ stressed out _ he was feeling. Fishnets didn’t care about his obvious discomfort, stretching his arms over his head languidly, chest popping out further with the movement, the fabric hiding absolutely nothing- _ including the fact that the guy was either cold or aroused, which Wade did not need to know, dear God, he didn’t want to know- _ and then red lips spread into an even wider, almost  _ predatory _ smile. His tongue darted out to lick at his right canine tooth as he stepped forward, heels clicking obnoxiously with every slow step as he swayed his hips from side to side as if he was on a stage. 

Wade took a step back and then another, rushing behind his podium and microphone to try and stop the strange approach. To hell with the greeting speech, he could jump straight into the sermon, his parish would totally understand- gasps rang out and echoed against the walls and the high ceilings as the guy took out one last sheet of paper as he reached the altar stairs. 

He climbed up as Wade frantically tried to find the page to his chosen passage for the day- what was the page number again, he had chosen a page number, Logan always told him to write it down, he was  _ an idiot, mistakes were made, God, spare him.  _

The stranger tapped him on the shoulder. 

Wade glanced at his side with wide eyes and then realized that even in six inch heels this man was still three inches shorter than him, at  _ least. _ He lowered his line of sight slightly. 

_ He was going to die.  _

Soft brown doe eyes were framed by long, dark eyelashes and eyeliner that made them all the more captivating. High cheekbones, a pearly white smile, and a light dusting of  _ freckles _ that made it obvious the clear unblemished skin was completely natural. To top it all off, there was a line of light purple and pink bruises all along the side of his neck and spread out over his chest, indicating exactly what he got up to during the night before and a collection of light brown curls that fell just over his ears in a wild fashion- a very…  _ telling _ fashion. God had recreated Jezebel in the male form and Wade was- for the first time in years- genuinely afraid. 

He forced an even brighter smile. 

“Welcome to the parish,” he began. “I- uh- hope you like it, totes welcome! In fact, you’re always welcome to stay and talk to me after service too, confessionals are a wild ride, but I’m the best secret keeper. Don’t tell Logan I said that, he’ll hide my pillows-” 

“Inviting me to stay after service  _ and _ being polite enough to warn me about the lack of pillows in your bed. What a gentleman.” Wade had only a second to realize the microphone was on and to step back even further when the guy handed him a paper and brushed their fingertips together before leaning in, eyes locked on Wade’s as he murmured, “My name’s Peter. And it would be a…  _ pleasure… _ to spend some extra time with you, Father.” 

Wade swallowed on nothing, the proximity setting him on edge as  _ Peter _ started walking away. 

_ Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look- _

Wade had been wrong. The jean shorts did cover what needed to be covered. Unfortunately they did not cover the back dimples and Wade wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

He ran mass as if nothing happened, as if Peter had never come up onto his altar to make a quiet scene, as if Wade hadn’t been reduced to a mess in front of an audience, as if he wasn’t  _ extremely aware _ of Peter sitting in the last two rows that were otherwise empty, legs draped over the bench in front of him and back draped over the edge of his own seat as he leaned back on his own arm and observed Wade with a piercing stare, biting his lip whenever Wade stepped out from behind the podium to tell a story, as if just looking at him was enough to cause an unfortunate reaction. 

By the end of mass, Wade had animatedly told plenty of stories about mistakes he’d made as a teen, about the virtue of kindness and accepting people who were different and  _ loving thy neighbor-- _ he’d almost choked on air when a woman asked if he meant platonically and several people not-so-subtly turned to shoot admiring glances at their new attendee. 

Peter-the-new-Jezebel didn’t stay after the service, a fact that Wade was  _ eternally  _ grateful for. Instead, he’d blown a kiss Wade’s way before making his exit a few minutes before it was over, grinning at the way Wade stumbled over his words mid-sentence. 

He’d almost expected the guy to stay and try to make a home for himself in Wade’s bed sheets. Wade would have refused, but the gossip alone would have  _ ruined everything he’d built for himself. _ He was happy, finally happy, and temptation would not ruin him. 

He was a man of God and he had resisted offers before. Often times those offers were from misguided people in unhappy relationships that didn’t come on quite so strongly, but they were offers all the same and Wade’s faith held true for ten years. After all, there was no way  _ Peter _ had been serious. It was some sort of social rebellion, Wade was sure. 

And then he took the paper out of his pocket and felt  _ horrified. _

It was a flyer for a gay strip club. 

It was a  _ flyer for a gay strip club and Wade was a Catholic priest who hadn’t thrown it away and had held it in his pocket during the entire service.  _

People had seen him put the paper in his pocket. They  _ knew _ and thought he actually wanted it and Wade decided that should Peter return, he would make a clear effort to establish clear  _ boundaries. _

He had taken a vow to help and lead and support everyone that sought the word of God and he would prove his loyalty-- he couldn’t afford not to. 


	2. He Could Ruin A Priest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter shows up to church again and makes everyone uncomfortable in numerous ways.

Peter sighed in front of the mirror. 

He looked fine. _Better than fine._ It was one of his favorite outfits and ordinarily he wouldn't have cared what anyone thought, but how the _hell_ was he supposed to seduce a _priest_ with lingerie? Sure, it basically covered even _less_ than the previous outfit did, but something was _missing._

He'd gone through several pairs of shorts, ripped jeans that hid nothing, several transparent shirts, and even his _dresses_ for Friday nights, but none of it seemed to hit the right way. 

Which was ridiculous. Peter had gone on stage plenty of times and any of his outfits were good enough for _that_ audience. 

But again. 

This was a fucking _priest._

It was _unfair._ Peter hadn't even gone into stripping for himself, he'd just done it to pay for Aunt May's hospital bills before… well. He didn't want to think about it. The point _was_ that he'd learned to love his job, to smile just the right way to get men onto their knees for him and he had absolutely no issue finding someone to satisfy his needs when he felt the urge. 

But then there was Father Wilson. 

Peter hadn't been to church since the funeral, so looking at the new pastor and seeing an _incredibly_ built man, muscles clearly too toned to hide behind the usual robes… it had been a surprise. A _very welcome surprise._

Peter had shown up with the intention of saving Tony's business and left as soon as mass was over, rushing home and locking his door before _immediately_ sticking his hand down his pants and pretending scarred hands were pinning him against the surface. 

He'd finished _embarrassingly_ fast and was glad he hadn't stayed at the church to try and slip into Father Wilson's room. He couldn't just temp a man of God only to put on a disappointing performance for him. He was supposed to be _worth men sinning for._

And his little show of spreading his legs in the back row of church had certainly been fun; he had the Father's attention almost as much as the attention of everyone else in the parish. He knew he wouldn't have been _quite_ as brazen if the new priest wasn't so… large. 

Peter had worn his favorite 'fuck me' pumps and Father Wilson was _still_ taller than him, tall enough that he had to look down at Peter-- so tall that Peter would have to _climb him to suck on his tongue--_

Peter had to focus. 

He stared into the long mirror again, playing with the fraying ends of his outfit and he frowned. 

_What was wrong with it?_

There was the black lace babydoll lingerie gown-- it cut off just beneath his hips, just fraying over the tops of his thighs, tied at the waist and _transparent._ That was fine. Lovely even. It was his favorite lingerie gown. He had the mascara, the winged eyeliner, the dramatic signature red lipstick. Even his legs looked fantastic. He _knew_ he had long legs. He'd even picked the lacy black thigh highs to match his gown, straps hooked under his criminally short shorts. He'd chosen the black spandex ones today that wouldn't hide his state if Father Wilson so much as looked at him. 

He looked _good_ and he didn't know why it felt incomplete and it was infuriating. 

The door opened, the mirror moving with it, and Peter threw himself onto the sofa of the backstage room as Tony walked in. 

Tony took one look at him, at the ensemble it was definitely too early for him to be wearing, and he walked right back out yelling for Steve. 

Peter scowled, crossing his legs and running an agitated hand through his hair. He knew Tony didn't approve, but forcing Steve to try and talk him out of it again was _stupid_ , especially since at least fifteen of their new customers had shown up with _Peter's_ flyers. 

Steve popped in and laughed lightly. "You're going again?" 

Peter shrugged. "Seems like a good idea." He stretched languidly on the arm of the sofa and grinned when Steve looked away from him. It didn't matter how many times Peter subtly flirted with the rest of the staff, they always got so _flustered_ because he was the youngest one among them. "Relax, _Captain._ I don't want to fuck you, you're safe." 

He had, at one point, considered it, but everyone in the joint treated him more like their son or little brother than an actual friend and after… everything… he really did just see them as a surrogate family. 

Steve smiled at him, sitting on the space on the sofa and pulling Peter's legs into his lap to hook the straps on the vintage style heels he'd chosen for the day. "Glad to hear it. You know Bucky would kill you." 

Peter grinned. "He could try." 

Steve snorted and Peter pouted, but decided not to protest. Odds were that his street fighting skills wouldn't hold up to actual military training. 

And then Steve fixed him a serious look and Peter tried not to tense up. 

"Are you sure you're just going to church for more… _clients?"_

And this was why they only got along half of the time. Where Peter _loved_ what he did, Steve did it out of necessity. He and Bucky had debts to pay. 

Peter had bills too, but he didn't have to fake a smile as often as they did. 

"I'm going because it's _working,"_ Peter retorted. "You know how badly we need this. Tony would have fought me harder on it if we didn't and I-- I _like_ putting on a show. It's _fun--"_

"It's working for _free_ outside of the club and--" 

"It's advertising," Peter interrupted. Steve looked conflicted and Peter _knew_ it was because of his age, but he didn't care. "I'm twenty-one. I can drink. I've been doing this for the past three years and you _all_ need this job. You're--" 

Peter sighed and crossed his legs, heels and all. "You're my family." 

Steve looked proud and frustrated at once and Peter gave him a cheeky smile and a sudden, _hard_ kiss on the cheek as Steve tried to shove him off. 

"Peter! You can't--" 

"I can and I will!" 

Steve was trying to cover up a laugh, poorly, and finally he just looked Peter over and frowned. 

"You're wearing the Babydoll gown." 

_Oh no._

Peter smiled. Casually. "Yep." 

He popped the 'p.'

Mistake. 

Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously and Peter fought a grimace. 

"You only where that when you're flirting with a regular-- are you trying to impress someone?" 

Peter smiled again. Innocently. 

"Nope. No idea what you're talking about." An image of Father Wilson, walking back up the altar steps after collecting people's donation baskets, flashed into his head and Peter's squirmed a little in place, blood rushing south when he'd specifically chosen an outfit he couldn't hide in. Still, he insisted, "No one to impress beyond new _loyal and repressed customers."_

Steve looked at the way Peter pressed his legs together and shook his head, evidently not believing him, but choosing not to say anything about it. It was funny just because he looked so _done_ with a smeared red lipstick mark on the side of his face. Peter went to the makeup table to fix his lipstick and-- once it looked better-- he frowned again. 

He caught Steve looking at his expression in the smaller mirror and turned. "What?" 

Steve sighed heavily, went over to _his_ makeup table, and pulled a silver box out of the last drawer. He handed it to Peter. 

"What is this?" 

"Peter, just open it, put it on, and do _not_ tell Bucky I let you wear that." 

Peter opened the box and started _grinning._ It was a collar, a black leather collar with fake diamond studs that could rest over his throat and hooked together at the back with a long silver chain and no handle. 

"First collar?" Peter teased. 

Steve turned a _brilliant_ shade of red all the way down to his collarbone and Peter only felt a _little_ bad when Steve said, "I help you and you turn your back on me?" 

Peter put the collar on as Steve was speaking, smiling widely and tracing red fingernails over his throat and jawline. He was ready. 

"Love you, Cap! Tell Tony not to worry, I'll be back for my showtime!" 

He ran out the door, pointedly ignoring the request yelled after him. 

"You have to tell me who he is when you get back!" 

He would absolutely _not_ do that. 

He just _knew_ Tony would try and Dad him again by sending Natasha with him and, while Peter was shameless enough to dance in men's laps while she served people at the bar, he didn't know if he was shameless enough to do _anything_ while she sat next to him. 

He just wanted a pretty, scarred, and muscled priest to fuck him in a confession booth; was that too much to ask? 

And maybe on the altar. 

Or on the pews. 

On the choir stands. 

_He wanted that man inside of him and he would have him._

He would have given up on the idea on the very first visit to church if Father Wilson hadn't blatantly stared at him for half the service and kept his flyer in his pocket, looking down at Peter with fear in his eyes-- as if he was _terrified_ when Peter got too close because he could see his control slipping out of his palms. It was cute. 

Peter could almost _taste_ the religious guilt. 

Unfortunately, he'd never been satisfied with _almost._

Peter arrived half an hour early this time, intent on getting himself a seat closer to the front. 

Father Wilson wasn't in the Church Hall yet and Peter took joy in seeing how the nuns held their rosaries in their hands every time they passed him. It was _funny._ He was harmless and he was _gay._ He would certainly still put on a show for them if they wanted to show up to the club, but he was still gay and the curve of his ass wasn't on display for them from his seat so the whole 'fearful gaze' thing was completely unnecessary. 

Even the choir teens were trying not to openly stare. One of the boys tripped over a step as he glanced back at Peter's chest and Peter snorted, sending him a bright smile and an enthusiastic wave. He would never be involved with a teen, but it was always fun to be someone's gay realization. Peter liked to think that if a teenage boy saw him and realized that Peter was proud of his sexuality, he would feel a little more comfortable exploring his own as he got older. 

_Look at me, being a gay role model._

Of course, he was the actual worst role model to have, but he was too lazy to try and be any better. He liked who he was, and he _especially_ liked himself as the parish began pouring in and everyone left at least two seats of space between themselves and Peter for appearances. In spite of the fact that Peter was in the fourth row, there was a perfect two seat circle around him of empty space and Peter rested back on his bench and stretched his legs over the bench in front of him. He'd chosen sheer, lacy thigh highs with the seams along the back and he would be damned if he didn't get to show them off. 

The moment Father Wilson walked into the Church Hall, his eyes took in the crowd and froze over Peter. 

Peter blew a kiss. 

Father Wilson gave him a polite nod and walked to the podium to address his parishioners and Peter deflated. 

_He'd worn his best decent outfit! He'd borrowed Steve's first collar! What kind of a reaction was that!?_

Peter tried to embody his usual flirty persona during mass, but his new favorite priest wouldn't even _glance_ his way for more than a second and he seemed so… so _serious._ Where were the jokes and the _'love thy neighbor'_ crap? It was like… like the guy was just reciting passages from the bible and analyzing the bible and there were no personal anecdotes or anything _interesting._

Someone in Peter's row fell asleep. 

Peter was _fuming._

This was because of him. 

Wilson thought he could _bore_ Peter into leaving and he had _no idea how wrong he was._

Peter spread his legs, ankles about two feet apart on the back of the bench in front of him, lay back against his pew, and casually shook the loose neckline of his lingerie gown over one shoulder. His skin had _practically_ been bare before, but now he was more exposed and there were gasps from the neighboring women. Suddenly people were turning to look at him and Peter lazily ran one fingernail over the outline of his cock. 

No one was paying attention to the sermon anymore and two families got up and ushered their children outside. 

Father Wilson sent an almost _pained_ look his way and abruptly stopped speaking when he realized Peter was looking at his lips, running the back of _three_ fingers lightly over his crotch now. He was clearly hard. He wasn't trying to hide it. He didn't touch himself, didn't slide a hand into his shorts, but he was showing off how badly he _wanted to_ and his favorite priest snapped his head back down to face the passage. 

He started at a place that was _clearly_ lower than where he'd left off, rushing through his sermon and explanations as quickly as he could before signaling to the choir. Half of them missed their cue and the entire group had to awkwardly meld together, joining in at random intervals as Peter _beamed_ and Father Wilson massaged his left temple with one hand. 

Peter would have done a better job of curing his headaches. A nice, _healthy one night stand always did it for him._

The service was a disaster, which Peter didn't mind given that it was what he'd been aiming for. 

He _was_ surprised when it ended and Father Wilson stopped him at the door with a wide smile and the words, "Peter. I was pleasantly surprised to see you've taken up regular attendance! Why don't you stay after service for a bit, I'd like a word." 

He did not sound as cheerful as he looked and Peter nodded dumbly, grinning wickedly at the sight of a disapproving glare from one of the soccer moms. 

He took a step into Father Wilson's space, pouting when the man stepped away from him but still smiling as he replied, "I'd _love_ to," while squeezing the priest's forearm lightly. 

He loved the angry faces of the people, loved the fact that jealousy was painted all over the faces of men who had become new regulars at the Tower, and most of all-- he was quite taken with the pink hue on Father Wilson's cheekbones that faded quickly. 

Whatever the man wanted to speak to him about, Peter could handle. 

He'd turned men into begging _messes_ kneeling before him, he could ruin a priest. He just needed to be a little more patient about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hi! This story lives! Have an update! (I'll edit tomorrow, haven't checked for typos, my bad). 
> 
> Love, 
> 
> Katana.


	3. The Weight Of Guilt And Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade tries to be a good priest and gets nowhere with a headstrong-- and too insightful for his own good-- Peter.

The issue with being a leader was that Wade had to be an _adult._ There was no one to complain to that could handle minor situations for him-- barring Logan, but Logan would just tell him to fuck off and Wade didn't need that right now. 

He needed some _peace._

He had tried to show a distant unaffected demeanor toward Peter-the-Jezebel and that had promptly blown up in his face and in the faces of _everyone else in his parish_. 

Wade was a little _upset._

So Peter refused to be ignored. Which was fine. It was familiar, even. Wade knew what that was like and he'd been stupid to think that ignorance was the right path. His God was compassionate and Wade… in spite of his reservations on the new _character_ in his parish… would embody the massages his Lord stood for. 

It was hard to convince himself that his motives were pure while the members of his parish kept glancing back and forth between him and Peter suspiciously as they exited the church. 

One man seemed particularly angry as he brushed past Wade without shaking his hand and Wade frowned when he realized that Peter had sauntered off to the front of the church and was _laughing_ at the altar as he watched the interaction. 

Wade didn't like the fact that he felt bizarrely amused. The guy's laugh was infectious and Wade noticed that some of the teens in his parish were giggling as well and this was _not_ alright. At all. They weren't supposed to see… _that_ … in _church._ They could look up whatever they wanted on their computers and confess when they got older the way their parents did but church was not supposed to be the _source of sin in their lives._

Once the Church Hall had emptied out, Wade left the doors open. He contemplated shutting them, but he didn't want rumors getting out about how he'd sought _privacy_ with their newest attendee. 

He approached Peter, smiling tightly as the man sat on the altar steps, one leg crossed over the other, leaning forward with one elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm. Peter wasn't smiling, just looking at his body in silence in such blatant admiration that Wade had to swallow before speaking. 

Wade sat beside him. 

"How are you… enjoying the church?" 

That had been the wrong question and Wade winced. 

He could feel Peter's eyes on his shoulders, his chest, his _lap._

Wade was _not the most attractive man._ He was pretty heavily scarred and anyone with the confidence Peter clearly had could gain better prospects than a _scarred priest._ He did not understand the mindset behind this man and he wasn't sure he could ask without making it sound as if he was interested. 

"I've been… enjoying the view," Peter confessed. He chuckled as he added, "Of the painted ceilings. And the high windows. Stained glass is quite beautiful. I think it casts an almost… ethereal lighting on the people inside of it. On you." 

Wade rubbed a tired hand over his face. What _was he supposed to say to that?_ He was a _priest._ He'd taken vows! He wasn't on the market and he didn't know how he could make that any more clear than it already was. 

"As… _flattering_ as your attention is," Wade started, eyes closed because he genuinely wasn't used to such blatant behavior and Peter now had the lacy top garment draping off of _both_ shoulders. "I would appreciate it if you were less… open about it. There are children in my parish and--" 

"I want you to fuck me on the altar." 

Wade forgot what _breathing was_ as his neck snapped to his left and he _stared_ at Peter who was no longer looking at _anything_ other than Wade's hips. 

_"You want-- are you out of your mind? I--"_

Wade snapped his mouth shut before he could start cursing, he was taken so off guard. He'd managed to be polite with _everyone_ in his parish since his arrival which was a miracle and he didn't think a scantily clad man would be enough to break his streak but _here they were._

"I'm not just here for you," Peter continued as if Wade hadn't said a thing. "I _do_ need more people to come to my godfather's club, I need my job, and I need the Lord to bless me so that my… family… doesn't end up unemployed." He waved an arm out at the Church as if presenting it to Wade. "Hence, Church. But--" 

He paused, played with the metal chain hanging off of his collar, and looked up at Wade from between long lashes with big brown eyes. "I saw you and decided this was the church to stay in." 

Wade shook his head, scooting about a foot further away from Peter as the man just smiled indulgently, as if Wade was just _shy._

"I'm… not interested," Wade finally settled on. "I have my vows, they--" 

"They wouldn't be the first thing you brought up as an excuse if they were important to you," Peter retorted. "You would have mentioned your _faith._ But you mentioned your vows because you think you need to keep them." He shrugged, completely comfortable almost nude and gave Wade a look that was almost… like pity. Like he felt sorry for Wade and not because of his scars, but because, "You do what the parish expects of you. You look stunned every time I spread my legs for you and I can tell you don't think you have options. I've seen the weight of guilt and loneliness in the mirror so many times that I can recognize it instantly and it's a look that doesn't suit you, Father." 

Peter stood, the expanse of his back entirely bare as the gown dropped down, hanging off of him only by his forearms, the thin chain covering just the ridges in his spine as he started walking away. 

Wade stood, grabbing his wrist before he could think about what he was doing. 

"You're wrong about me," he stated. He had to be wrong. Wade wasn't saying no out of guilt or obligation, this was-- this was _home_. Still, Peter was a stranger and his words struck Wade down to his very core and he couldn't stand it. "You're wrong." 

Peter turned too look at Wade over his shoulder, red lips spreading into a tiny smile as he raised a brow and asked, "Am I?" 

"You're playing a mind game and you think I'll fall for it," Wade replied, voice quiet as he tried to figure out what he meant. And then he understood. Peter worked in a club, a family club, he was a stripper and that meant-- "You're used to getting your way because men fall at your feet and you think that if you smile enough, if you laugh the right way and bat your eyes and spread your legs to invite them in, they'll become attached to you, but I'm not going to do that. I'm not a man of sin." 

Wade blinked when Peter laughed. 

It didn't sound sweet or high like the warm laugh from before that was almost contagious. It was low and amused and almost like a half-snort and Wade felt confused by the fact that it sounded more genuine. 

And then Peter looked into his eyes and smiled softly. "You say you won't become attached to me, that you aren't a man of sin, Father, and yet… you're still the only man on holy ground to have touched my skin." 

Wade snatched his hand back as if he'd been _burned._ He'd forgotten that he'd reached out for him. 

He hadn't realized he'd still been touching him, that he hadn't let go, that anyone could read too much into it because as expressive as Wade was, he never offered more than a handshake to people. 

Peter left after that, stopping at the church entrance to wink at him and stretch indecently against the church doors before making his way out. 

And Wade was _lost._

His faith was not weak. 

He'd been a faithful man for a decade and he couldn't be weakened by a man's beauty just because he showed Wade interest. 

Other people had and Wade had been _strong._ He was still devoted. One lapse in judgement, one brush of skin did _not_ mean he was unfaithful to his religion. 

He went to sleep praying for forgiveness for letting Peter's words make him doubt himself for even a fragment of a second, praying for guidance in how to deal with the… _entity…_ that was Peter, praying for absolution of his sins-- however brief and insignificant they may have been. 

He dreamed about Peter. 

He dreamed about red nails scratching against his skin in the heat of the moment, he dreamed about that mouth only a breath away from his as Peter made sounds that Wade had never heard from anyone before. He dreamed about tracing his hands over flawless porcelain skin, pressing his lips to individual freckles. He dreamed about ripping off those skimpy shorts and giving Peter _exactly_ what he wanted on the altar, a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet so that the nuns wouldn't be able to hear him and he woke up in a cold sweat, running to the bathroom to clean himself up and take a cold, _cold_ shower because he wanted to scrub away the thoughts of indecency. 

The thought of his unexpected suitor in those outfits was almost _haunting_ because if that was what he deemed acceptable for public wear… Wade couldn't imagine what he wore in a club. 

He promptly shut his eyes and started scrubbing _harder_ against his skin, wincing when he brushed over a scar that was more sensitive than the rest. It burned and he regretted his actions, but he'd felt they were necessary. 

He knew exactly what to imagine and he wanted to scrub his mind clean of impure thoughts. 

Wade managed to stop picturing it by throwing himself into planning the sermons for the next few weeks, making notes about which stories he could share and what lessons they'd taught him. He dived into the church event list and made sure to call up volunteers, confirm their participation, to have long congratulatory conversations with prospective couples who were scheduled for weddings. 

He did everything that normally would have taken him a week in a day because he was desperate to keep his mind occupied. 

But then he would sit down for a meal, he would go to the bathroom, he went to bed, and Peter's words played back in his mind like those of an all knowing siren. 

_I've seen the weight of guilt and loneliness in the mirror so many times that I can recognize it instantly and it's a look that doesn't suit you, Father._

Wade was not guilty. 

He'd more than made up for his sins. He was devout and he had people that relied on him and Peter was only a man. 

He was just trying to get into his head and Wade had to stop thinking about it. It _wasn't true._

Wade wasn't _lonely._ He had… he had his parish. And he had Logan and Yukio and her girlfriend still invited him over for the holidays and there were plenty of children that came to him for advice and _looked up to him_ and he _had something stable._ This was better than anything he'd had before and he considered himself _blessed_ to have had it for over ten years now. Peter was only human, a test of his faith and Wade would not falter. 

He still found himself tossing and turning at midnight, the phrase repeating in his head until he had a thought that should have occurred to him days prior. 

If Peter claimed to recognize the weight of guilt and loneliness in a man's gaze from the mirror… what was he guilty for and how could a man that beautiful be… alone? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in a day! I'll very likely finish this fic in March (my focus for February is going to be Sharp Teeth so bear with me, I've set a schedule). 
> 
> Anyway, yeah, so, uh. I'll go through and edit at some point tomorrow and yeaaaaaah Peter has no shame! 
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> Katana :)


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